Beneath the Eagle's Wing
by Hawki
Summary: To protect the people...that was GDI's mandate, and against Nod and the scrin, it did quite well. But as tiberium encroachment accelerated in the aftermath of the Third Tiberium War, it found itself fighting a war it couldn't succeed against.
1. Rising Sun

_A/N_

_Funny how all the _Command and Conquer _multi-chaptered stories I've done so far have effectively been journal based. Anyway, in this case, started off as a oneshot, but extended it to a multi-chaptered story._

* * *

**Command and Conquer: Beneath the Eagle's Wing**

**Chapter 1: Rising Sun**

**Personal journal of Cassandra Blair (excerpts)**

**Profession: In-field reporter, W3N**

**Status: On assignment, southern Egypt, yellow zone Y-2**

**December 7, 2047**

Had that feeling today. The feeling that comes from stepping outside your comfort zone. The feeling that comes from "oh shit, why on Earth am I here?"

Bit late for that though. But as hot, hellish and…hot Egypt is, it's at least a change from the Europe. Here at least, the enemies are humans and tiberium. Not tiberium and the aftermath of an alien invasion that seemed to be based on tiberium's presence. So while I'll probably look back at this journal and laugh sometime next year, right now, as I'm camped out in the desert, I'm regretting it.

Anyway, stepped out at an airstrip a few hundred miles south of Aswan. As Aswan's already on its way to becoming part of the red zone spreading across North Africa thanks to the effects of the Temple Prime liquid tiberium along with the one in Italy, it's the only place I could get to. GDI took Egypt from Nod in the recent war and now is trying its best to deal with the people under its jurisdiction. People driven south by war and in recent months, tiberium.

(Sometimes I wonder why I'm writing this-I'm reporting the same things to W3N every day. Maybe I need to get it out of my head…)

Anyway, after a few hours of screening, I finally got outside to feel the hot Egyptian sun rising from the sun, casting yellow light through the tortured sky to the north. Got greeted by a Corporal Combelle and directed to what was called a Roughrider. An open topped vehicle. For a _yellow zone_. Still remember the conversation.

"Don't you have enclosed vehicles?"

"Off fighting Nod," he grunted.

"But…I don't…"

He gave me a suit that was worn by GDI soldiers along with a helmet. The suit, he explained was to be worn at all times. The helmet was to be used at my own discretion-probably didn't need it unless an ion storm kicked up.

"Great…got a place to change?"

Turns out the site's portaloos double as changing rooms.

**December 8, 2047**

Still on the road. I'm writing in this journal to keep my mind off things, even if the bumps of the road make it impossible to write legibly. That, and the troopers aren't interested in talking to me. Combelle's driving this vehicle and the grunts in the back are new recruits-kids that couldn't join the fight against Nod in the war proper, but now that GDI's focus has shifted from fighting to salvage operations, are perfectly suited for the tedium of guard duty. Even if they don't believe me, I feel sorry for them. I'll be back in B-3 in a few months. These guys will be here for at least a year, provided the tiberium doesn't kill them first.

Combelle's no better-I can't pin his accent exactly, but he's clearly from a non-English speaking background. But so far our interaction has been along the lines of "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am," sometimes with an "absolutely not," thrown in for him. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows my name. But regardless, I have no choice but to trust him. Because if Nod guerrillas of mutants come out of the sands and attack us, I'll have no choice but to hope he and his boys can fend them off.

Or can I? What did they say again?

"Hey civvie, you here for the long run?"

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out here?"

"Fuck off, I'm not talking to you."

"Watch yourself civvie. You taking a turn out here, you might find others taking turns for you."

It's great to have such good friends.

**December 9, 2047**

Firebase Uniform…that's the base we arrived at today. A firebase situated alongside a refugee camp called... "the camp." That's it. It's what I've got to call it every time I log a report.

It's hard to say where the firebase ends and the camp begins, but I have an idea. It's probably where the auto-turrets on the firebase side give way to the barbed wire on the camp's side. 21st century tech alongside tech belonging to the 20th. But there's a mingling as well. I've seen troopers carrying everything from high-tech GD-2 rifles to AK-47s, with even TWII pulse rifles thrown in-between. Supplies are low, Combelle explained, and they have to make do with whatever they can salvage. Even stuff used by the Brotherhood of Nod or Forgotten.

As I'm sitting here, I'm on the firebase side, enjoying the benefits of a fan and bottled water. The red zone to the north seems to be quiet, so as long as I keep my suit on and my helmet handy, I should be okay apparently. Combelle however, insists that if I'm going into the camp side, I should always take an escort. The question of where these refugees are going to go (if anywhere-blue zones around the world are close to bursting point already) is still being sorted out and there's the real prospect of Nod infiltrators in their ranks.

"How do you sort them out?" I remember asking. "I mean, how do you tell if their identities are valid or not?"

"We try," he grunted. "But maybe it's best to keep them to the camp anyway. Let them do the damage against other shiners and whatnot."

"That's pretty cold."

I'll never forget the look he gave me then. Nor his words.

"The world went cold 50 years ago. We're just trying to stay in the warmth."

It's warm all throughout Egypt.

But if Hell's a cold place, looking at the sky to the north, I think we could be headed for it.

**December 10, 2047**

"Reporter lady." That's what the children call me.

Combelle took me into the camp today. I'd expected everything I saw-disease, poor sanitation, the looks of the desperate and the damned. But I never expected so many children to be there. I always imagined Nod to be…well, fragmented up until what's already being called the Third Tiberium War, but I'd always been under the impression that it drew from fanatics. People who had nothing to lose so joined for a sense of purpose. I never really entertained the idea of _families _living within Brotherhood borders. Or even in yellow zones altogether. It didn't seem possible.

But no…there are children here. Children standing alongside young and old adults, short of everything that even with blue zone rationing, we take for granted. Regardless, Combelle acted as my translator, and I managed to get a report-situation sucks, GDI is doing good, etc.

I didn't answer the children's questions. Questions of when help was coming. Could they live in a blue zone. Will the tiberium ever go away? When will they stop having nightmares about the scrin?

None of the adults asked those questions.

I think they already knew the answers.

* * *

_A/N_

_Update (21/06/2012): Corrected error-meant to say at start that all the multi-chaptered _Command and Conquer _stories I've written so far are journal based, not all the multi-chaptered stories, period. Derp. _


	2. Eye and Talon

**Command and Conquer: Beneath the Eagle's Wing**

**Chapter 2: Eye and Talon**

**Personal journal of Cassandra Blair (excerpts)**

**Profession: In-field reporter, W3N**

**Status: On assignment, southern Egypt, yellow zone Y-2**

**December 20, 2047**

Even here…ugh…feel ill…

I've been sick before. Stomach bugs, the flu, everything. But not like this. Not when I feel like I'm dying. Not to the extent where I've actually had to call W3N and ask them to find a new topic for their broadcasts, public relations be damned. I know Boyle wants success stories, especially after the Italy FUBAR, but…well, screw him.

At least now, lying in my bunk with the fan up above, I feel well enough to write. I was afraid it was tiberium poisoning at first. Haven't been wearing my helmet that often, and it's completely out of the question for the televised stuff. But no-my bloodstream was clear. According to Combelle, it was likely something in the water.

"Water? But it's bottled."

"So we're bottling contaminated water. You get used to it."

"And it's not food poisoning?"

Yeah…stupid question, looking back at what I remember of the conversation. No bug on Earth would bother setting up home in the plastic food here.

Still, it has got me thinking, as to what it's like on the other side of the fence. I've decided to start cutting down on food-at the last, the children need it. I wouldn't trust them with the water though. But then again, maybe they're used to it.

I hate to sound so cold. But maybe Combelle's right. Maybe being cold is a mandate for our survival.

Either way, come tomorrow, I'll be heading back into the warmth of the Egyptian sun and getting these people's stories told.

Even if they're all similar.

**December 25, 2047**

Christmas day. GDI style.

Major Reeb gave the base the day off. Which basically meant doing nothing as usual, but we could choose our nothing to do. And at the least, thanks to the stories I've been logging over the weeks, W3N gave me the day off as well. More chances to do nothing.

Yet the soldiers present find stuff to do. There's a building dedicated for vid-phones and the like. The connections are on the fritz mostly, thanks to the havoc wrought by the scrin on our satellites, not to mention ion storms. Yet with the extra time the guys and girls have, they're making the most of it. I thought about doing an article on that, but decided against it. It's my day off as well. And I think they'd enjoy it if I wasn't hovering over their shoulder.

And hey, something else has changed. Combelle's stopped calling me "ma'am" or "Miss Blair," or reporting to me as "the reporter." Apparently I'm now… "sunshine." Yeah, I don't get it either, especially since sunshine is in abundance in this part of the world. Asking him why is no good either-something about being a ray of sunshine in a shitty situation, assuring the public that GDI is doing everything it can to help these people…freedom of the press indeed. Still, maybe it's just a one day thing, though he _was _kind enough to ask me whether I wanted to use the vid-phones at all, whether there was anyone I wanted to call.

No. There isn't. Hasn't been for over twenty years.

**December 27, 2047**

Some things you never forget.

There's a few things I know I won't. One is the day of August 25, 2030. A day where a terrorist bombing occurred in Manchester. One among many all over Europe, paving the way for the opening of the Second Tiberium War. A bomb where, among the list of casualties, were the names Theodore and Pamela Blair.

The second thing I won't forget would be the scrin invasion. Yeah…Nod did a number on us, but at least they're human (even if they don't act like that). But first contact with an alien species? An alien species that invaded New Eden among other places, where you were stationed at? I won't deny, that was terrifying. As reporters, we're obligated to stay in control to the best of our abilities, but how could anyone do that when there were spaceships flying above?

The third thing was today. And part of the reason I'm writing this entry in particular is to get the images out of my head.

Went out in a Roughrider again today, albeit one escorted by a pair of Pitbulls as well. Standard patrol, signs of Nod activity…just like the trip from the south, only I was obliged to wear body armour in addition to the suit that I've barely taken off since I got here.

In the context of the RPG hitting the Roughrider and turning it over, I think it saved my life.

I had my hover-camera active the entire time, and I'll get round to reviewing the footage eventually. But at the time…Christ, I barely remember it. My ears were ringing, Combelle was shouting, pulling me away from the wreck. Telling me to stay down as the Pitbulls swivelled around to meet their enemy and troopers took cover and opened fire.

It's funny…I never even saw the enemy. Apparently they were mutant marauders, likely wanting to get their hands on some hardware. Apart from the Roughrider, we didn't suffer any losses. Was a squeeze in the Pitbulls, but we managed to get back to Uniform okay…if "okay" is the word that one could use to describe the look I saw in the kids' eyes. None of us talked on the way back and I wasn't inclined to make conversation.

It got worse at the camp. Other convoys had been attacked. There was even the suggestion that the Forgotten might be staging a wider campaign against GDI. Not even they can survive in red zones that easily, and there's only so much land left on the planet fit for human habitation. But hey, we were lucky.

Others weren't, and the medical staff had their hands full. And it's here again where things get blurry.

I remember taking my helmet off, and retching. Sweat is a common smell, especially with the lack of sonic showers here and water showers being limited to one every two weeks. But the smell of blood is something else. At some point…I decided to head into one of the tents. Coming across a young boy, maybe…eighteen years old? No different from the other guys I'd rode with. Only in his case, he was missing his legs and was having trouble breathing. Not only had the Forgotten blasted them off, but had used tiberium-based weaponry against him. He was now choking to death as the crystals tore him apart from the inside.

I wanted to get out of it then. Really. But I was a person with a camera. He knew he was dying. And with those two facts combined, he…gave his last words.

It'll be private, I promised myself and Major Reeb that. Something to send to his family and nothing else. As for the rest of the footage, that's still at my discretion.

Maybe that's why I'm writing this down. To know what needs to be said.

And what can never be.

* * *

_A/N_

_Update (21/06/2012): Made spelling/grammar corrections._


	3. Clipped Wings

**Command and Conquer: Beneath the Eagle's Wing**

**Chapter 3: Clipped Wings**

**Personal journal of Cassandra Blair (excerpts)**

**Profession: In-field reporter, W3N**

**Status: On assignment, southern Egypt, yellow zone Y-2**

**January 1, 2048**

New year's day. No celebrations, whether they be today or tomorrow. Not so soon after the Forgotten raid. Not when innocent people are still in the camp. People who'll likely still be here in 2049, provided the red zone hasn't swallowed this place up by then.

It's becoming a likely prospect. The weather's getting worse. It's as if the planet itself has decided to turn against us as well.

The refugees are getting restless as well. More troops are being assigned to the wire, keeping them at bay. Reeb stated in an interview that his men are equipped with blank rounds and will avoid using excessive force, but…well, I don't know if it'll be enough. Or even whether the men will want to hold back. Not when some of the guys got drunk yesterday and among other things, declared that we should "send the shiners back to Nod." And other things that led to a fist fight between a sergeant and lieutenant.

I don't know how long I can stay here. The powers that be want positive stories, but I can't put a positive spin on this for much longer. Not when the refugees are still succumbing to everything from starvation to disease. Not when GDI soldiers are dying. Not when it looks like the lull we had in ion storms seems to be abating. Even if it was up to me, what could I do here? What could any of us do? Already I'm hearing reports from colleagues that tiberium is on the march everywhere, our sonic resonators now failing to beat it back. Did the scrin arrival trigger another mutation or something? And if so, what can we do about it?

I don't know. The scientists aren't here. Only the young and the dying are.

**January 2, 2048**

Not my story. But I just heard that there was a bombing in Christchurch, New Zealand today. Conclusion? Nod terrorist attack.

South Island. Blue zone B-12. Last bastion of the Pacific, some are calling it, especially since all of Australia is now a yellow or red zone, what with Sydney being nothing more than a radioactive wasteland now. And, of course, Nod has to go and kill innocent people.

I didn't watch the broadcast in the recreation area with the other troopers. We'd all seen it before. Personally, I think it may be in their job description to yell abuse at "Noddies." To me, though, it was just another bombing. So far away. I may be a journalist, but in this part of the world, I'm just an observer.

New year. New Nod activity, even with their leader supposedly dead (again). Probably wanted to do it on the January 1st, but were too drunk from December 31st parties.

Boyle's called a press conference that W3N will be covering. I'm still to remain here though. Got a call from Penny Sookdeo-they'll use my footage if needed, but for now, I'm to continue running stories and see if it makes the news desk.

**January 7, 2048**

One month anniversary of being here. And no-one gives a damn.

I don't feel hurt. I'm still an outsider. Heck, I don't really give a damn myself. Combelle mentioned it in passing (started calling me "Cass" as well…firstname basis FTW I guess), but I think he was just being polite. And since there's nothing new to report on, I asked if he might like to be interviewed, especially since the firebase is back to normality after the Forgotten attacks. He laughed, and said I should interview myself.

So that's what I'm doing. Lying on my bunk, looking at the fan. I'd like to ask myself the following questions.

1: As a reporter, I'm meant to stay neutral when observing conflict. Have I done so?

2: Would I risk my life for a story?

3: Have I compromised my ethics in my work here?

4: Have my reports made a difference?

So, in answer:

1: No. I'm not neutral. I can't be. Not now. Not against Nod, not against the scrin, not against the Forgotten. I hate them. Hate them all. I can talk calmly about them on the camera, but just thinking about what they've done…I hate them.

2: I don't know. Does the RPG attack count? If I _knew _I would be distinctly risking my life, would I do so? I'm not sure.

3: I would like to think not. And after I got an email from the parents of Private Albis (the boy who lost his legs), thanking me for allowing him to say his final farewells, and for not showing the footage anywhere else…I would like to think that I helped at least two people.

4: But I haven't helped anyone else. No-one cares about this place in the world. I don't think many people care about the world itself anymore.

Sometimes, it's enough to make you cry.

**January 8, 2048**

The refugees don't care. I asked them. GDI, Nod…all the same. They're probably going to die here. They know it.

I can't help them. Not the children. Not the men. Not the women. GDI can't either. The ion storms are getting worse and it looks like all of Egypt will become a red zone. Sooner or later, this camp will pack up and the people stationed here will go to some other hellhole.

And I'll be back in B-1. Yay.

**January 9, 2048**

I've been exchanging emails lately with the home desk. Am I staying? Is the camp staying? Do I want to leave? I give answers, but they never seem to listen to them. And when I ask the troopers about the camp, they either don't have them or refuse to answer…usually with some profanity involved. Is it the tiberium, I wonder? Or is it guilt? Guilt that they can't help these people, can't afford to bring them into blue zones without risking bringing in Nod operatives as well?

Sitting here, in the rec area…I don't know what side I'm on. But at least when I'm not discussing the concept, the soldiers have become friendlier. Combelle's started a card game, even inviting me to take part. An offer he's probably regretting since he doesn't know when to fold, and I usually end up taking a fair share of earnings, second only to PFC Carlton. But hey, what else can we do with our bank accounts?

* * *

_A/N_

_Update (21/06/2012): Made grammar correction._


	4. Setting Sun

**Command and Conquer: Beneath the Eagle's Wing**

**Chapter 4: Setting Sun**

**Personal journal of Cassandra Blair (excerpts)**

**Profession: In-field reporter, W3N**

**Status: On assignment, southern Egypt, yellow zone Y-2**

**January 15, 2048**

This morning, a six year old girl stole a machete from the camp. This morning, that girl walked up to the wire. This morning, the girl, acting in good fun with the troopers stationed at it, stabbed one of them in the chest and almost did the same to the other guard before he peppered her with blanks.

We soon learned through her own confession that she was Nod. Born Nod, raised Nod, would gladly die Nod (and for Kane). Knew that she was suffering from tiberium poisoning and didn't have long to live. Knew that before she died, she was obligated to slay as many infidels as possible, those who would ignore the divinity that is tiberium.

I interviewed her. Asked her questions-why did she think this? Why should those men have to suffer when she'd never met them before? Why…well, why a lot of things. Report is logged. It'll air tonight. W3N is expecting excellent ratings.

Yet lying here in my bunk (I do that a lot, don't I?), I have to wonder. Wonder why I don't hate her. Wonder why I pity her. Wonder whether if she'd grown up as a "normal" girl, whether she'd by happy and healthy.

How low have we become when even children are being used as weapons of war? There's a historical precedent for it, but…well, it's just something I never expected to see. But hey, I'm staying here longer as a result, even with the weather getting increasingly ominous. Maybe W3N wants more child soldier stories.

**January 17, 2048**

The girl died today. Asher Kokmali. Born May 3, 2041. Never knew her parents. Grew up at a Nod training centre near Alexandria.

I didn't run this story. As far as the world was concerned, her story was told two days ago.

And still I can't hate her.

**January 28, 2048**

Times have been slow. Little to say. But it's official. I'm being extracted. I'm heading out first, the base is going to be abandoned and GDI's going to make its best guess as to who can come with its soldiers and who gets to be left behind in what tiberium experts is going to be part of a red zone stretching all across North Africa.

I'll be leaving on the 30th, flying out on the 31st. Already packed my things. Already said my general goodbyes. There hasn't been much talking. Not even at the card games. But hey, at least I'll be getting a ride in a Pitbull this time-Major Reeb will be taking me personally.

Combelle seemed a bit aggravated. They all do. I can only guess their reasons, and won't, because the reasons are the same reasons I feel aggravated as well. Did we do anything here? Are we the 'good guys,' or just animals fighting to survive in a world that seems to be on its last legs. Maybe Nod was right. Maybe tiberium _is_ the future. Maybe we've just been buying time ever since 1995.

I don't know. I'm going to turn in.

**January 29, 2048**

**Audio log-left on…battery low**

**Time: 02:09:45-onwards**

_Sound of door knocking._

_Blair: Huh? What?_

_Sound of door knocking._

_Blair: Coming…coming…_

_Sound of door opening._

_Blair: Combelle? What time is it?_

_Combelle: Two-ten. Just finished night shift._

_Blair: And…you thought that you'd wake me up._

_Combelle: Surprised you can even sleep. _

…

…

_Combelle: Well, anyway, I should-…_

_Blair: Come on. I won't be able to sleep now anyway._

_Sound of door closing. Sound of what is likely two people sitting on a bunk bed._

_Combelle: So…you're leaving._

_Blair: Yeah. On the thirtieth. What about you?_

_Combelle: I've got one last patrol to make early next month. After that, back to some blue zone for reassignment._

_Blair: I…huh._

_Combelle: What?_

_Blair: Sorry._

_Combelle: Go on. Say it._

_Blair: Going to mention about visiting family, but…you know…_

_Combelle: Yeah, you let loose things when you're playing cards. But…_

…

…

_Combelle: Look, I'll lay this out. Tomorrow and the day after, I'm on camp duty. Final sorting out of the r-gees. And since Reeb wants you on the firebase side until you move out-…_

_Blair: What? He can't-…_

_Combelle: Probably not going to see you after tonight. So anyway, just came to say…well, thank you._

_Blair: Huh? For what?_

_Combelle: For…hell, I don't know, being here? For not judging us, for being honest, for being a decent reporter? I don't know…_

_Blair: I'm touched._

_Combelle: Look, I'll just say it. I'll miss you. Even if you leaving the card game means I'll stand a chance of increasing my bank account. Sometimes, it's nice to talk to someone who doesn't run the risk of dying every single day._

_Blair: Never thought I'd say this, but…well, think I'm going to miss you too._

**Warning…battery low…**

_Combelle: You know…you don't look too bad without your hazard suit on._

…

…

**Warning…going into hibernation mode**

_Combelle: What was that for?_

_Blair: Just shut up and kiss me back._

**Shutting down…**

**January 29, 2048**

**Audio log-left on…power recharging thanks to outlet insertion**

**Time: 07:59:36-onwards**

_Blair: Hmm…ugh…_

_Combelle: Morning sunshine._

_Blair: Huh? I…oh, son of-…_

_Combelle: Relax sunshine, it isn't anything I haven't seen before._

_Blair: I…oh, shit…shit!_

_Combelle: Gotta be off myself. Patrol starts in fifteen minutes._

_Blair: Off…what? Wait? What are these?_

_Combelle: Contraceptives mostly. Think there's a few anti-viral things in there as well. _

…

_Combelle: Oh, come on, GDI isn't blind. Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, you've got to have these things handy._

_Blair: You…you planned this!_

_Combelle: Not really. Swiped these from the medical stores a few hours ago. _

_Blair: You…you…_

_Combelle: Stay off it sunshine, you weren't intoxicated or anything. And you kissed me first._

_Blair: You…you're a pig!_

_Combelle: Whatever. I'm heading out._

_Blair: Cut and run, is it?_

_Combelle: What you're doing, is what it is. Just waltz in here, file your fucking stories, then waltz out. Go to hell sunshine._

_Blair: Fuck off! You can die out there for all I care!_

…

_Blair: Shit, I left this on…_

**Shutting down…**

**January 31, 2048**

Flying out. I feel ill. I can only assume that…doing stuff in these kind of temperatures isn't good for you.

First thing at home, I'm going to have a shower. After that, see what the world brings me. No more surprises I hope.

**February 9, 2048**

**Letter delivered to Cassandra Blair**

**From: Major Edward Reeb, Firebase Uniform, Y-2**

_Dear Ms. Blair._

_You know me from Egypt, and I hope that despite the days that have passed, you have not forgotten. I wish I could write with better news. But it is my duty to inform you that Corporal Alec Combelle_ _was killed in action on February 3__rd__, 2048. I do not know how well you knew the man bar your general interactions with him during your stay with us, but he requested that I address a letter of condolence to you. While you are not a family member or relative, I have acquiesced to his request. In part because he had no surviving relatives, in part because I am grateful for the services you rendered during your time with us. I respect people who ask the hard questions, and in turn, I will respect his wishes._

_Corporal Combelle was making a patrol in the area north of here when his convoy came under attack. Not too dissimilar to the one that you experienced in December of last year. However, the Forgotten were well equipped and well trained. I believe this to have been an attack of spite almost, knowing that the red zone was closing in on them. Corporal Combelle performed with all the qualities I would expect of a GDI soldier, and members of his squad expressed gratitude for his actions. Unfortunately, he was struck by a tiberium based weapon that breached his armour. We got him back to base as soon as circumstances permitted, but we knew by that time he was doomed._

_I won't lie to you Ms. Blair. We both know what tiberium does to people, and while we administered painkillers to Corporal Combelle, he wanted to remain conscious. I'm afraid he did feel pain during the last hours of his life. He made one request of me in particular however, to write this letter, and to let him include some words of his own (please see overleaf). Out of respect, I have not looked at them. Out of respect, I did not press the question of why he had asked that I send this letter. I can only assume that the two of you left on good terms._

_Yours faithfully, and with heartfelt condolences,_

_Edward Reeb, Global Defence Initiative_

…

_Note from Alec Combelle:_

_Dear Cass,_

_Can't say much. Don't have much time. Just writing is painful. But I want to say these words…_

_I'm sorry if I hurt you._

_I'm not sorry that I met you._

_If the world's coming to an end…please…enjoy what time you have left._

_And Cass…_

_Thank you for being my sunshine._

**The End**

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, that didn't go well in terms of responses. Meh. I can take it. Hopefully _Generals 2 _can revive the _Command and Conquer _section._

_Anyway, for what it's worth, don't have any other _Command and Conquer _stories on my 'to write' list right now. Currently working on a _StarFront _story titled _Transit of Venus_._


End file.
